They Cometh From Iron

Long guns jutting out like black spears from the cliff side ramparts had gone silent, their crews dead or driven off by return fire. Firing crenelations in bastions built behind the very stones of Mt Sunderpeak have either been sealed shut by webs of quick cement, or blasted wide open with explosives leaving stout bodies piled up behind the wounds. The outer fortifications had fallen and now the Iron Warriors proceeded with their favorite part of the siege: Pouring in to commence the slaughter after all the monotony of set up.

Khaz Yurgrund lay open to the invaders. Her gates had buckled inward from massed explosives. The hinges had been slagged by super heavy tank fire. Thousands of the Adeptus Astartes from two different legions marched in through the cavernous opening, dozer blade fitted vehicles plowing away fallen statues of venerated ancestors and clan heroes. Above them units descended by jump pack and from aerial transports to land on the abandoned defense platforms had been abandoned, reclaimed, and abandoned again after clan Hildagur's failure to turn the tide.

With their numbers depleted beyond expected estimates some plans had to be re-arranged. Plans A through D went out the window and E and G were stitched together. The easiest way to put it was that the Iron Warriors would bear the brunt of the fighting, moving to claim critical sectors of the hold and turn them into rallying points and redoubts against counter-attack in the event that the siege wasn't so much turning into an assault, and became more a matter of just moving the lines forward while the Squats dug in elsewhere. Three major spear heads would dig into the city, merging and supporting each other as needed.

Iron Master Yugznon and Warsmith Odiaus would handle taking over the industrial sectors. Abhuman, advanced, and separated from the greater parts of humanity as the Squats were; there was still enough of a link there that the likes of the Iron Warriors could probably start turning any production facilities against their former owners. The Luna Wolves under Captain Luc Sedirae would stab straight at the enemies leadership, attempting to behead the foe and savage their morale as readily as they did the Squat armies. The Iron Warriors in support would be sure to stir up the hornets nest and do whatever it took to draw out the lords of Khaz Yurgrund as needed. Finally Captain Irmile of the First Company would take a fair sized portion of the battalion through the inner hold and aim to take the train yards to deal with any further reinforcements that might arrive. Seventh Squad found themselves joining the first spear under Odiaus and Yugznon.

Down both Dyzek and Seth, Nathiel would be left to carry the worst of the close combat for the group. Thankfully the scale of the engagements made sure they weren't receiving all the attention. Assaulting a Squat hold took urban warfare to a new level for them. Layers of engagements on the Y-axis weren't unusual, regular cities had sewers and multi-story buildings after all. The layout of the streets and avenues were as maze like as any other. What really made the difference was scale.

While the interior of Khaz Yurgrund was spacious enough to accommodate warfare, it was less forgiving of the significantly larger space marines. Squat dwellings were cramped even by the standards of Imperial homes. Explosives were being worn away with worrying speed as grenades and missiles were needed to clear out dwellings and outposts. The cannier Squat commanders were fully abusing the battalion's reduced mobility to full effect. Luring the Iron Warriors into assaults against clustered dormitories and shops, having the Squats squeeze out the back when the explosives rolled in, then hopping right back in to keep firing as if nothing had happened. Casualties piled up, and the Iron Warriors kept grinding on over both their own dead, and that of the enemy. Just like they always did.

Disaster struck as the attackers reached the forge districts. An attempted deep strike by the Warsmith and several squads of veteran siege terminators ended with Odiaus alone and pinned down inside of an ore smelting plant, while half his retinue were being cooked alive in promethium pipelines, and the rest had been scattered to the four winds. The number of eyes that flashed with opportunity were as numerous as the number of bodies that were ordered forward to aid the Warsmith. Squads Akar and Diodotus were, of course, on the case.

Things went from pear shaped to double pear shaped to triple X levels of screwed rather quickly. Diodotus and co became bogged down in a fight against a mob of Squat laborers who had weaponized their own work vehicles and machinery. The militia of angry short people proving just as effective as their better armed and trained counter-parts as it turned out. An angry Squat with a ten foot tall walker swinging around cargo crates was just as deadly as one with a plasma cannon in most cases. Squad Akar bypassed the worst of this, skirting the engagement as the other mixed role squad got stuck in and was supported by more traditional units.

Akar ordered the most mobile elements of the squad begin climbing upwards to reach the Warsmith. Whether it be by pipes, ledges, or ventilation, they needed to get up there and fast. It was a race to rescue their superior to the Sergeant, a duty to a commander and battle brother, Emperor knew the last person in the legion that wanted anything resembling more leadership responsibility was Akar. The same most certainly could not be said for some of the others moving in for the rescue. While Sergeant pulled Grunvil and Vilhelm aside to hitch a ride with a Rhino making for a cargo elevator, Nathiel and Xerxes were waylaid in their journey. Squats wearing single thrust unit jump packs descending into their path and meeting them in close combat with chain weapons and pistols amidst the treacherous footing of uneven clusters of pipes. Marcus and Herchel were the only ones making good time towards the Warsmiths position. Then a shot from an autocannon blew out the cat walk from beneath the Apothecary and left him tumbling down several stories, breaking through even more flooring until landing at the foot of a vat full of molten metal.

Herchel would make it up three more layers of nightmarish pipework and industrial mayhem before reaching the Warsmith. Odiaus stood his ground in the cover of a large matrix of coolant pipes. Bullet holes riddled several of the tubes and chilling liquid spilled out over the floor in large oily pools of lime green. A multitude of dead Squats laid in said pool, bodies blown out by mass reactive fire from the Warsmiths storm bolter. Only a single figure remained standing, and was readily advancing toward Odiaus with minimal concern for the bolts flying its way.

"I be Peace Keeper unit Two-O-Nine. Ye may refer tae me as Murphy. Ye be disruptin' the peace an work O Khaz Yurgrund. Cease an submit tae arrest an trial, or face execution. Ye have twenty seconds tae comply before ye get blasted." It was difficult to tell what Herchel was looking at. Either a robot built to look like a Squat, or a heavily augmented Squat. Metal plates laid over mesh pieces that kept any mechanical components or fleshy bits concealed. So far it was walking off the bolt shots with little more than cosmetic damage. A red visor hanging down from the square half-helmet the figure wore flashed brightly as the Peace Keeper acknowledged Herchel's arrival.

"Attention invader scum. Ye are enterin' a scene O a crime. Ye will comply tae arrest an trial, or face immediate execution." Both a Webber Gun and Grav-Pistol were raised, former pointed at Herchel, latter at Odiaus. Warsmith rose up and went for a grenade, Grav-pistol fired and RoboSquat's head swiveled about unleashing an occular blast at the Iron Warrior. Odiaus vanished behind the coolant pipe nexus before the Peace Keeper turned to Herchel. "Yer time tae surrender is up. Ye shall now die. Yer family be eternally shamed by your foolishness, and their wealth will be used to reimburse any damages done tae the hold."

Fighting through the innards of the industrial sector to reach the trapped Warsmith, Xerxes' uncanny senses warn him of the Squat ambush almost too late, preoccupied as he is with psychic reconnaissance of the best-possible fit routes to reach the Warsmith, given the chaotic, constantly-changing environment. Just before the first single-use jump turbine kicks in, his Immaterial perceptions shunt everything else aside, replacing his battlefield overlay to highlight a close-up of the Squat assault unit in screaming red.

Barking a warning to Nathiel, he darts aside and sprays off an entire clip from his bolter at the troops descending from overhead. Mag-clamping the weapon to his armour, he draws his spade, extending it to its full length with a whisper of shifting nanotechnology and spinning it with menace to meet the first Squat jump trooper as the abhuman lands with an earthshaking thump no more than three body-lengths from him. The spin turns into a battering, downward diagonal blow with the flat of the spatulate blade that impacts the Squat warrior's shoulder and spine before he has a chance to recover from his landing, flattening him to the ground where a thrust from the crescent head neatly decapitates him. Without missing a beat, Xerxes shifts his grip to the end close to the crescent blade and whirls nearly the entire length of the weapon in three massive circles about him, the spatulate blade buzzing angrily through the air as Squats either dive out of the way, or are bowled over, clearing a space around him in which to do his deadly work.

Charging a knot of three warriors as they attempt to press in, Xerxes chops their legs out from under them with a low sweep of his weapon. As more attempt to move in on his rear, he thrusts a hand out towards them, fingers outstretched in an imperious gesture. From the duffelbag slung over one shoulder, a storm of pummelling stones, lacerating gravel and grinding grit erupts. Squats topple over with fist-sized holes punched in their skulls, or writhe on the ground, screaming as grit works its way through their eye slits and armour joints to sand them down to meat and bone meal within their armour, or else gurgle with purple faces as rock turns to constricting nooses around their thick necks.

"We don't have time for this!" he snarls at Nathiel, "The Warsmith is counting on us! Let's clear this chaff and get moving!"

Another Squat died as his shield was cleaved in half alongside the better part of his body, the mutant suffering quite an ugly death but not as nearly as the one behind him who in lack of a better term, was squashed as Seth used the flat side of his giant axe to break his helmet and pummel the Squat into the ground, after couple of hits the only thing remained out of the defender was a pulpy mess of gore and metal.

Tunnel fighting was not something Seth was proficient at, however it turned out that most of the Squats he met so far weren't proper warriors in a way some of the old ones he killed were. These were more like workers-grabbing-guns, armed engineers, some sort of a Hold's militia if there even was such thing. Of course, while this meant they could offer some resistance in a straight fight but hardly being able to stop Legion's advance, they pulled it off with ingenuity - setting traps, collapsing tunnels, demolishing parts of the trenches and so on. It worked against Luna Wolves to a degree, but against Iron Warriors, a Legion specializing in pretty much the same things, it wasn't as effective but it still created a hindrance that needed to be conquered. Not to mention now when that damned mechanical dragon arrived.

Thankfully, Vilhelm already cooked up a plan, or at least was in the process of it, giving the task to Seth to go and gather warriors for "boarding action". Moving through the tunnels on his own for most of the time, he went from one juncture to another, from one barricade to the next, wherever Squats attacked he was there. Like just now, he would drive into them and start killing with reckless abandon, however instead of his usual "I slay because I love it" stance he was on a lookout for any Battle Brother who would be the first to help him out, following his warcry and throwing a smackdown on the Squats until there was nothing left.

After the killing was over, it was those Brothers that Seth would approach and tell them about the mission. "I need those with iron balls to come and join me. We're attacking that flying piece of scrap head on, boarding action straight into its face. Low chance of success, high of chance of getting yourself killed. What are you waiting for?!"

Sometimes it would work, a mad enough Marine would come with Seth and he would send them towards the pickup location and sometimes they would just rebuke him, speaking that the orders were to hold position, defend from Squat attack, so on and so forth. These groups Seth would spit on, calling them out on being cowards and moving on before they had a chance to reply. It wouldn't make him lot of friends in general but it would make a statement, not to mention what would happen if Vilhelm's plan actually works and they do some damage to the big monster. Then the Legions will have something to talk about.

Once done with the picking Marines, Seth would move towards the Stormbird and where both Dyzek and Vilhelm were located. He grinned at having opportunity to fight alongside his "swifter" brother once again without others interfering, bringing him to a time before they were joined by Nathiel. Spending time with his Little Brother perhaps alienated him a bit from Dyzek, three were a crowd as they say, so Seth welcomed this chance to do this like in the old times.

Herchel had finally made it up the industrial mayhem to finally lend aid to the war smiths postion, and now one more obstacle lay against him, A cysquat? a Robquat? It mattered not as it raised its weapon herchel raised his volkite, "My family will sing only tunes of Victory Murphy for when they hear of more of our victory here and across the galaxy, Iron within, Iron without." Herchel said letting himself roll into cover as a webber shot and the sound tearing metal leave behind him raising his volkite he had become close with he fired a shot towards the center of the squat only aiming off towards the grav gun knowing from seeing the damage it nearly did to one of his brothers.

The interior of the Stormbird's jet engines began to glow a cool blue as the first flames licked out of them. One wing was unseated from a shallow grave of soil and snow by several Mono-Task Servitors with servo-claws. Aircraft leveled out and what doors still existed were sealed, either secured by locking mechanisms or held shut by the grip of Seth's gathered horde. Horde was a far more appropriate term than alliance in this case, every warrior wearing an assault pack and equipped for the savagery of close-combat. The Luna Wolves outnumbered the Iron Warriors, yet those brave or foolish enough to attend made no qualms about following Seth's lead; they only cared for slaughter and the thrill of the hunt.

Sitting back to back Vilhelm and the other Tech-marine responsible for getting the Stormbird flight worthy ran through a handful of pre-flight checks, ensuring that the most vital systems were working. A persistent humming buzzed in every ear as the void shield generators powered up and their greatest defense was raised. Those in the hold were able to see shots catching on the barrier. Ripples of energy spreading from small arms fire, while light bloomed outward explosively from the heavier munitions. None of it would stop them from lifting off.

Servitor teams abandoned on the ground, forty assault marines loaded for deployment, and only a handful of functional weapons left; they planned to home in on Drakeron Ningrundi and drop their murderous cargo right on top of it. Anti-air fire coming from the hold's ramparts targeted them immediately, gunners recognizing a wounded animal that only needed a bit more pushing to collapse. Shields being whittled away with worrying speed the pilots had to hunt down their target fast, before they were blown out of the sky. Synthesized roars helped in this regard, the Squats piloting their mighty craft with little concern for enemy return fire. Scales might be burned and hide scratched, but nothing seemed to carry the strength and accuracy needed to slayed the winged beast. Enter the legions.

Assault ramp dropped and the marines pounded their way across the floor and leapt out. Dyzek lead the charge with Seth only a fraction slower to drop into the fight. Stormbird flew above mechanized dragon's current path. Head bobbed up and down several times before the Squat pilots turned the freezing breath upon Astartes ship. A hail storm glued itself to the void shields raised in response, both Tech-marines flying blind until they bottomed out of the cloud and made a dive into cover. Drakeron Ningrundi passed beyond with a host of mites clinging to her hull.

Krak grenades and melta-bombs were affixed all over the behemoth of aerodynamic steel. Dyzek and a handful of the more even-keeled marines from the Iron Warriors laid out their explosives upon the base of the neck. Seth and his horde simply blasted holes in the body or hacked through with power weapons. Both parties met with cramped passageways and heavy resistance almost immediately. Dropping down into a transport artery stabilized inside the gigantic flier's neck, Dyzek lead his team forwards to find the cockpit and most likely whoever commanded the crew. Seth and his lot would drop in across multiple halls and chambers in the upper layers of the interior. They sought to cause havoc and gut power systems and engines.

Seth and his twenty seven strong mob of Luna Wolves and Iron Warriors wrought havoc through a number of unimportant passages as they followed guide posts, living crew, and their own bloody instincts in the hunt for something important to destroy. Resistance was light at first, encountering scattered guards who hadn't been prepared for boarding or were pummeled into uselessness by the breaching blasts. These were the easy times, the appetizer for when they hit their first wall.

Organized defenses met them outside of the engine room. Squats in bulbous egg shaped Exo-Armor came crashing down the halls and tore down the walls to get to them. Power weapons and heavy guns made them look shockingly close in load out to their own terminator units. Assault cannons chewed apart armor and flesh alike in hails of solid shot. Power Fists clenched and crashed through chests. Axes hacked down at those bold enough to engage the Hearthguard up close. The ten strong squad of veteran Squat warriors became as a wall to the marines' advance. All while more mutant gunners formed up and dug in behind them. On the opposite end of the vessel, Dyzek set a course for a slightly different sort of challenge.

A handful of guards clad in carapace armor would stuff themselves into the throat of Drakeron Ningrundi and turn solid shot weaponry upon the marines who were forcing themselves forward with slight hunches and roughly two abreast. Shotguns might of lacked the essential piercing capabilities to prevent damage to the craft's thinner interior walls, but that went double for the ceramite of power armor. Rushing forward through hails of brass Dyzek broke away from the claustrophobic confines and scattered the defenders. The rest of the cockpit rose to meet him.

"Ye boarded the wrong ship lad." A Squat stepped forward, only three short steps separating his throne level and the crew cavity. A helm embellished with scaled wings of gold that flared out from the back sat over a bushy uni-brow that was only hidden about half-way down from the top. A flight suit reinforced with sections of carapace plating and thickened mesh girded his body. A pair of braids whiter than the snows outside looped down to his belly and hooked onto a power unit on his back. Upon spotting the Iron Warriors he grasped both tails of facial hair by one of several ornamental plates complete with friction grips and flipped the braids over revealing they were tipped with morning star-esque heads. With a snort the Squat activated their power fields.

"I be Sky Captain Magrundi Hilsdagur! Drake Crafter and eldest son of Warlord Hilsdagur, an ye will not be leavin' here alive. Prepare to face the fury of me Southern Hold Crash Braid Style!"

"Ye have officially broken fifteen codes O law. Ye have assaulted a Squat of the law. Ye sentence has been upgraded to death without trial. Submit tae execution at once, or ye kin will be slain with ye to expunge the dishonor of ye actions." The Volkite weapon struck true and RoboSquat glowed like the flame of a las-cutter boring through a sealed door. Grav-gun and Webber fired back, the latter instantly hardening in mid-flight and crumbling apart from the ray gun's heat. Latter traced a wild path after Herchel, Volkite trained on the arm wielding the pistol. Pipes were crimped shut, sections of floor formed pinch headed pyramids and ripped the edges from their anchoring, and control panels imploded wherever the gravity distorting ray touched. Murphy's visor glowed and several tightly packed bursts of lasers shot across the room, narrowly blowing the Iron Warrior apart.

A steam valve flies across the room as a blast knocks it from position. A geyser of steam erupts across the room horizontally. Several more knobs ricochet through the air and further jets of boiling air begin shooting off. Warning klaxons wail and nearby heat monitors begin to flash bright red as data streams warn of catastrophic overheating. Something was about to blow up, and soon.

"All non-emergency personnel must vacate the vicinity. Catastrophic machine failure imminent, please make way for any and all engineers. Pray for the guidance of our Ancestors in all attempts tae halt the situation." Murphy began trundling toward Herchel with slow, purposeful steps. Webber gun was holstered along the left thigh, cyborg, robot, whatsit then draws a double-sided power hand axe. The Volkite fire seemed to do little more than scorch the plating.

The boarding of their target had gone off without a hitch, and within moments of dropping down into the belly of the beast, Dyzek had been forced to say farewell to his brother. With Seth leading his marauders deep into the heart of this monstrosity, he himself had his own task to perform. Rather then join his comrade in crippling the engines of the massive machine, he and his group would be looking to take it's head entirely, a task that no doubt would be filled with glory if completed. With his band of thirteen soldiers from the Iron Warriors and Luna Wolves, Dyzek would give the call before rushing forth, up the spinal conduit, charging onwards up the throat.

Racing ahead, down corridors cramped and filled with fire, the unit here would move as a speartip strike, rather then the oncoming wave of Seth's forces. Tenacity and velocity would be their allies, striking hard and fast before the enemy could properly react to the fact they had been boarded. This advantage, the surprise the abhumans had shown, from the simple fact that their superweapon was now crawling with the enemy, had been worth the risk. Not one of the Squats the marines had seen could be suspected of ever guessing The Imperium would dare such a raid, but then, these were the missions Astartes lived for. By the time the alert was spread, and the Squats started to react to the assault, the charge of the Space Marines had already travelled most of the length of the beast's neck, to reach the inner skull of the war machine.

Tremors and booming thunder would travel through the metal corridors the Astartes rushed forth through. The shuddering of the multitude of cannons and guns being fired from the draconic machine would only serve as a reminder to the warriors that time was of the essence, and with every passing moment, the casualties of the Legions would only rise. With this in mind, Dyzek and the warriors behind him would enter into the bridge, where the real battle would begin. The air filled with gunfire, screams, and roaring weaponry, the Iron Warrior would move forth, his chain glaive purring with each strike of it's spinning teeth. Yet, as he moved, the sight of the Squat champion would catch his eye, his words stilling the chaos of sound around him, as warrior faced warrior. Hearing the challenge of this Sky Captain, Dyzek could not help but feel the weight of this being's presence, knowing without a doubt this was the man to slay, if he wished to end the terror of the Drakeron Ningrundi permanently. Thus, as the Squat provided his own introduction, Dyzek would take a stride into the fray, holstering his bolt pistol at his hip. With a flourish of his chain glaive, the Iron Warrior would take up a combat stance, mirroring the stilled potential for violence in his foe raising a single pointing finger, before speaking back.

"I am Dyzek Petroski, son of Terra, warrior of The IVth Legion, and The Iron Tempest. Your South Hold Crash Braid Style shall shatter before the might of the Astartes."

With this, Dyzek would lunge forward, kicking off from where he stood, chain glaive spinning in his fingers, as he closed the distance between himself and the Squat in the span of moments. As he came within striking distance, he'd engage his jump pack, a burst of flames kicking his form to the left, the feint of his initial strike leading to his redirected attack. Circling around his foe, he'd lash out with his chain glaive, looking to take the man in the side, and draw first blood. In this battle, his foe looked to have some mettle to him, yet, Dyzek had speed, and with his chain glaive, he'd have reach, thus he'd need to play to his strengths, and victory would find him.​

"Dyzek Petroski, I'll be sure to etch that onto one of me beauty's fangs." Squat cast one braid out like a fishing line straight at the charging marine. Dyzek feinted away and beard maul panged off the floor. Second was spun up and lashed at the Iron Warrior on his second approach, narrowly skimming across the flat of extended halberd and sending it careening into the floor before Squat whipped his flail back around. Again Dyzek would dodge, the weapons were slow, but wielded by a master. With a yank of right arm the other maul came back. Twirling both weaponized hair chains Magrundi crouches back preparing to pounce.

"Frostbreath Falling Cyclone Descent!"​

Squat spun up on one heel and threw out both braids. The cockpit crew ducked for cover behind their chairs and screens, the small arms fire from their las-pistols relenting on the other Iron Warriors. Magrundi launched away from his throne and towards Dyzek, spinning at a rapid pace and threatening to catch him in a tornado of punishing blows!

Ripping through the useless Squat defenders was a trivial task for Seth and his merry band of madman, however the next question was not how but when would the mutants finally rally up a proper defense. It happened in the chamber outside the engine room, the place being the objective of their attack - blowing up the dragon's heart and killing the mechanical monstrosity shall be the final blow to the Squats of this Hold.

But before that happens, they had to deal with these quasi-terminators. "KRAKS OUT!" Seth shouted to the warriors around him, pulling out an anti-armor grenade himself and trowing it at the defenders line. Waiting for the rest to do the same and the followup explosion, he would charge straight into the melee and swing his giant axe around, trying to exploit any possible damage the grenades would cause to the armor of the Squats arrayed in front of him.

Of course, he wasn't really sure if the rest of the Marines around him would listen, after all he had plenty of experience dealing with the friendly madmen charging into enemy lines and not registering any outside input. Then again, even somewhat crazy these Luna Wolves and Iron Warriors were still leagues away from the berzerkers of the XII Legion who Seth served with in the past, both in savagery and maddening bloodthirst, so he believed they would listen him and follow his grenade with the ones of their own.

In any event, Seth would make sure to kill every last one of these Squats before moving into Engine room. He had to feed his Excoriator weapon enough red blood before he moves to the black one, the lifeforce of the giant machine.

Herchel kept moving as he saw the squat holster his webber for a power axe, As Steam and other bolts and valves began erupting from the environment warning alarms in his suit began warning him of the area of heating up, He was going to have to change tactics close combat like in the trenches, holstering his volkite and grabbing his Eviserator, and bolt pistol he began firing and weaving forward aiming to engage the squat head on, His bolt shots aimed for the squats power axe and his squat sized eviserator aiming for the grav gun for a disarm and to make it into a melee. As he went in for a blow he yelled out. "Iron Within Iron without!"